


Champagne tastes like Coca Cola

by silvervelour



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 70’s AU, Eventual Smut, F/F, bob and monét own a motel, trixie and katya are part of a bachelorette party, very free love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour
Summary: She shunts the car into a higher gear as she speeds up along the dirt road freeway, reaches out a hand to rest atop of Trixie’s knee once she’s able to maintain a consistent momentum, her foot pressed heavily on the gas pedal. Trixie taps her clammy fingertips along Katya’s clenched knuckles, entwines them with her own when Katya’s expression softens, her attention briefly filtering to Trixie, disregarding the empty road ahead.Her forehead is dripping with the heat - it’s the hottest summer on record, Trixie knows that ‘76 will go down in history - and Trixie lifts the napkin she’s been clutching for half of the ride to the droplets that skim Katya’s brows, fall to her lashes. Katya grins appreciatively, beams so that her teeth glint comically in the sunlight, and focuses her concentration back on said road.





	Champagne tastes like Coca Cola

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello yo 
> 
> she’s back from the dead with a new pairing!! i present bixya!! 
> 
> title comes from ‘lola’ by the kinks, and the general premise from my love of the 70’s, along with the lack of love bob gets 
> 
> let me know what you think!! this will probably be 3 parts!! 
> 
> all of my love <3

The wind is in Trixie’s face, gales of it blowing her hair backwards. 

She’s sat in the passenger seat of Katya’s camper van, shoes kicked off onto the carpeted floor and feet curled up onto the dashboard. Her bare legs are sweaty against the leather of the bucketed seat, and she twists uncomfortably as she winds the window down further, flexes the muscles of her spine to the sound of the car radio tuning in and out of the station that Katya’s fixated on.

Joni Mitchell’s _big_ _yellow_ _taxi_ is playing, and Trixie allows herself to absorb her crackling voice before Katya inevitably switches to the cassette player, complains that the song has been nothing but overplayed since it was released a total of six years ago in ‘ _70_. 

Her voice is smooth in Trixie’s ears, and proves to be a distraction to the bickering that’s taking place in the five seats situated behind herself and Katya, concealed by the floral dividing curtains that hang between both sections of the vehicle. Trixie doesn’t dare pull the tacky yellow fabric back, knows without a glance that Dela is aggravating both Sasha and Shea, Dusty and Monique.

It’s because Dela’s getting married in two weeks; they’re travelling west to San Francisco to celebrate her bachelorette party, attempting to locate the cheapest motel that they’d booked in advance a meagre month ago. It’s as unplanned, as disorganised as everything Trixie’s ever done before, and she flickers her gaze towards Katya, flashes her a smirk followed by a sympathetic smile as Katya fingers the corner of a crumpled paper map.

Her brow is furrowed, her long, wavy and unruly hair tucked behind her ears. The lengths of it flow down her back, get caught under her armpits and lodged between the leather of her seat and her shoulders that Trixie can tell are tense tense tense.

She shunts the car into a higher gear as she speeds up along the dirt road freeway, reaches out a hand to rest atop of Trixie’s knee once she’s able to maintain a consistent momentum, her foot pressed heavily on the gas pedal. Trixie taps her clammy fingertips along Katya’s clenched knuckles, entwines them with her own when Katya’s expression softens, her attention briefly filtering to Trixie, disregarding the empty road ahead.

Her forehead is dripping with the heat - it’s the hottest summer on record, Trixie knows that ‘ _76_ will go down in history - and Trixie lifts the napkin she’s been clutching for half of the ride to the droplets that skim Katya’s brows, fall to her lashes. Katya grins appreciatively, beams so that her teeth glint comically in the sunlight, and focuses her concentration back on said road.

It’s desolate for miles, she’s certain, but is aware that the fact could change in an instant when she pulls the fabric of her peasant dress away from her chest, feels her nipples harden at the soft graze. Trixie chuckles at the sight, and brings her feet down from the dashboard, crosses them beneath her on the seat instead.

Her pink shimmer painted toenails dig into her thighs, as do the numerous gold toe rings she has adorning them, and she regrets her choice of accessories when she’s unable to position herself comfortably. She huffs indignantly, groans inwardly when Katya slots in her favourite cassette tape, predictably, and _Carly_ _Simons_ voice takes over from Joni’s.

 _You’re_ _so_ _vain_ is the only song of hers that Trixie tolerates - specifically puts up with for Katya, though the two are indistinguishable - and she finds herself tapping her feet to the carpeted floor with each beat that echoes through the speakers. Katya hums along nonchalantly, until the song fades out, is replaced by the age old voice of Ray from _the_ _kinks_ , the opening chords of Lola drawing cheers from the girls in the back seats.

 _Well_ , _I'm_ _not_ _the_ _world's_ _most_ _physical_ _guy_

 _But_ _when_ _she_ _squeezed_ _me_ _tight_ _she_ _nearly_ _broke_ _my_ _spine_

Katya sings each word exuberantly, vibrantly, as does Trixie, her lungs stretching the material of her cream chiffon camisole and the waistband of her denim, a-line button up skirt. The cotton threads itch at her skin, but the air around her is warm, stuffy, and the sun thrums down onto her already sun lightened hair with every word that she puffs through her lips, the two thin braids that she has pinned to the crown of her head from the front section of her hair threatening to drop.

 _Well_ , _we_ _drank_ _champagne_ _and_ _danced_ _all_ _night_

 _Under_ _electric_ _candlelight_

Trixie bats her eyelids at Katya, silently communicates the connotations of the song - it had been playing the night they’d met, drunk on cheap champagne and cheaper love - until Katya gets it, nods her head as the car hurtles down the road towards the populated city.

“How long until we get there, d’you think?”. Trixie questions.

Katya shrugs her shoulders slowly, pushes the crumpled up map into Trixie’s lap. She points to a smiley face sticker that she’s stuck to their approximate destination, and then lower down towards a route that Trixie doesn’t recognise, one that Katya seems unsure of, too. Katya chews her bottom lip between her two rows of teeth, takes a left turning when they arrive at a fork in the road.

“I think about half hour, but don’t trust me on that one-“. Katya chuckles.

“-I told you guys Sasha should have driven but apparently none of you are capable of functioning after a single fuckin’ joint each”. She jokes.

Trixie rolls her eyes, scowls good naturedly when Katya takes a further left, comments about reckless driving and sharp turns being lobbed at them from all directions. Katya huffs, pulls her round, blue tinted sunglasses down off of her head in order to cover her eyes. She blinks against the tint that they cast over the landscape ahead, the buildings that are beginning to grow tall either side of them.

Civilisation blooms and conversation booms, the speed of the camper van decreasing as Trixie peels back the dividing curtain due to the demands of Dela, her voice permeating through the layers of yellow and orange floral printed plaid. They swing behind hers and Katya’s headrests, dangle and swish as Katya swerves to avoid ditches in the gravelled road, and Sasha and Shea take it upon themselves to tuck them back in their holsters. 

“How much longer, dad?”. Dusty bellows, her head slumped upon Monique’s shoulder.

Monique repeats the query, only quieter, and Dela chimes in with her agreement that Sasha and Shea refuse to echo. The consensus is that they’re tired, drained - they’ve been on the road for a total of six hours - and Trixie’s quick to fix them with understanding smiles, promises that Monique will be free of the weight of Dusty’s skull within the next half an hour, that Dela will be free to stretch her short legs.

“Half an hour, according to geographical genius Katya”. Trixie snickers.

“Maybe twenty if we’re lucky!”. Katya follows.

“That means another hour”. Sasha drawls mockingly.

Katya snickers impatiently at the retort, lobs the map backwards so that Sasha’s able to make out their route for herself. She does so quickly, and chortles affirmatively when the remainder of the girls question the legitimacy of Katya’s words. Sasha knows that she’s telling the truth, neglects to tell Katya that she’s closer than they think; the motel is on the next street over, one right turn away.

Flicking off the radio in order to focus on the conversation at hand, Trixie twists in her seat. She slips her shoes back onto her temperature swollen feet - they’re tan sandals with a two inch heel, a slim strap that encircles her ankle - and plants the souls of them firmly on the ground. They pinch at her skin that’s already blistering, cause her to grimace, but Katya reaches out slowly, soothes Trixie’s kneecap with a stroke of her thumb that’s calloused from years of pottery classes.

“You good?”. Katya checks, receives a nod in response from Trixie. 

“I’m good-“. She murmurs, faces Dusty and Monique with a chuckle.

“-But I think if we don’t get to the motel in the next couple of minutes Dusty’s head is going to be permanently stuck to Monique, and I don’t think either of them want that”. Trixie finishes.

“Facts!”. Monique confirms.

Dusty lifts her head, then, flips her middle finger melodramatically into Monique’s face. The vision is laughable, humorous, and Trixie smiles in awe at the two friends, along with Sasha and Shea, the couple whom she’d bet money on to elope and get married if it were to ever become legal; part of her thinks they might do it regardless of authority, on a beach tucked away in Southern California.

Dela’s smile mirrors Trixie’s, and Trixie knows it’s because she recognises herself and her fiancé Brian in the adoration that’s passed back and forth between the both of them. They’ve known each other since college, much like Shea and Sasha, have been courting since their junior year and engaged since Valentine’s Day of ‘ _74_. They’re smitten, eyes loving and actions tender to the extent that Trixie finds herself winding her fingers tighter around Katya’s, lifting her palm to kiss at her knuckles.

Trixie loves all of them.

Dela, Brian, Sasha, Shea, Dusty, Monique, Katya.

“Still good?”. Katya snorts.

“Mhm”. Trixie licks across her lips. 

Katya nods her head, detangles her hand from Trixie’s in order to shift gears. She pulls the wheel to her right, causes the vehicle to leer around a corner that lands them a handful of yards away from the parking lot of _Caldwell’s_ , the motel that they’ve pre-booked. Trixie’s able to spot a drive through diner across the street, along with an apartment complex that stretches four flours to the clouds.

It looks better on surface level than she’d expected it to, her preconceptions having formed when Shea had shown her pictures from a two year old brochure, the Caldwell sign missing its d and one of its l’s. Trixie thinks that they’ve renovated - the exterior of the building is a navy blue which differs from the faded peach which she had been envisioning - and she’s proven right when Katya parks the camper van out front, spots a hanging sign that reads under new management.

“Is this the right place?”. Trixie whispers to Katya, receives a nonchalant shrug in response as cheers erupt from the back seats.

“I guess we’ll find out”.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m also on tumblr @ silvervelour!!


End file.
